


The jumbled Fluff Chronicles

by MindTrove



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Mild Smut, Pregnancy, Romance, momlavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindTrove/pseuds/MindTrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small drabbles of Fluff between my Inquisitor and Solas  How many there'll be I do not know, but i need to practice my fluff skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's fine

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Solas stuck around for Moro's pregnancy
> 
> Exploring how the two of them would be about it, might write more if i can get the hang of fluff.

When Moro was pregnant with Ramia, it was a lonely time as well as reflective. To say she was happy to have Solas along for the ride as she carried her second child would have been an understatement. She was elated.

She was far along now, her stomach twice its usual size. Big enough that rising and sitting took more effort than usual. Solas was never far behind however, in-fact he hardly left her side. Moro couldn’t sneeze with a “Vhenan! Is everything okay?! Are you hurt? Do you need anything?!” 

His doting and anxious behaviour was endearing at first, but as the days and months passed so did her patience.

It was one particular evening, Ramia had been tucked to bed and most of Skyhold had ended the day as well. Sleep eluded Moro however and she decided to spend the evening sewing by the fireplace while Solas used her desk for his research. 

“Must you do that so close to the fire?”  
“Worried I’ll spontaneously combust Solas?”  
“Would the bed be more suitable?” 

When it was clear Moro would not be budging from the love seat he gave a quiet sigh and continued his work. Moro absentmindedly reached her hand to her side. Hand coming to contact with nothing, she looked over, the pile she kept all the damaged clothing empty. 

“Solas, where’s your sweater?”  
“I’m wearing it. Last I checked.”

Moro laughed despite his attempt to be sassy with her. “Not that one, the one with the hole in it.” Moro grunted slightly to look behind her, the said sweater dumped on the edge of her bed. “Never mind, I found it.” Moro turned back to face the fire place, taking in a large breath. Her eyes gazed down to her large belly, eyes glaring but hand patting it affectionately. “Don’t give me a hard time tonight.”

Her first attempt to rise form the sofa failed, which ended in curses that caught Solas’ attention. Solas’ pen immediately ceased to write along the pages as his eyes were fixed on her. Moro was halfway up when he saw her begin to struggle. He was beside her in minutes, helping her rise fully and earning himself a growl from her.

“Creators Solas! Stop fussing over me!”  
“You are eight months along Vhenan, you shouldn’t be straining yourself!”

Moro groaned aloud, manoeuvring around towards the bed to retrieve Solas’ old sweater. “I’m fine Solas, honestly. This isn’t my first pregnancy, I’ve done this before.” 

“…I haven’t…”

Moro paused, looking towards Solas. Still standing by the fireplace, his mouth in a thin line but hurt and exasperation written plainly in his eyes. Guilt slowly creeped up inside of Moro but was quickly replaced by adoration for some strange reason. She would fix this.

“Oh love, come here.” Solas approached Moro sheepishly as she dropped the clothing back on the bed. There was much height difference between Moro and Solas, so it was easy for her to give him a quick chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Swiping a thumb across his cheekbone and using her other hand to grab his hand. Placing his hand on her stomach and rubbing soothing circles along the back of his hand.

“Can you feel her Ma’lath?” Solas furrowed his brows, not entirely sure what Moro wanted him to do. “Use your magic.” Solas’ eyes widened immediately, head shrugging side to side vigorously and trying to retract his hand. Moro chuckled, eyes crinkling as she kept a hold of his hand and brought it back to her belly. “Don’t be afraid Solas! Go on, you won’t hurt me. I promise. Use your magic, like you do when you’re healing internal wounds.” 

Solas was still uneasy, but his hand began emitting a green glow and swept across her stomach before abruptly stopping with a gasp. Moro beamed at his expression, placing a kiss across his temple.

“See, all is well. Do not be worried love. Everything will be fine.” Solas held Moro as closely as he could, elvhen words tumbling from his mouth too quickly for her to pick up. The doting over the rest of the next weeks decreased slightly, but every night before sleep took them she would feel his magic tracing across her. She was excited to see what to expect once the child came into the world.


	2. I'm alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moro returns from Crestwood near death.
> 
> Solas doesn't take it well

The first time Solas realised he was in too deep, that what he felt for Moro could have the potential for trouble was when he almost lost her.

He was coming close to a breakthrough with his research when she had asked him to join her, Iron Bull and Blackwall to Crestwood once again for unfinished business there. Moro quickly noticed the pensive look in his eyes as they were glued to notes and books that littered his table. The elf was always one to give someone his full attention when addressing them, that day however his eyes always kept shifting back to his work. Almost as if he was afraid the words would disappear if not given a glance every few seconds.  
Moro, amused at his state of enthusiasm for nothing other than his work relieved him of the responsibility and allowed him to resume his work. 

Solas pulled Moro down for kiss, deep and passion filled as he held tresses of her hair between his fingers. Crestwood wasn’t terribly far, but nonetheless she would be gone for some time and so made sure the kiss express his gratitude as well as how much he would miss her.

Moro seemed reluctant to make the kiss end, she was crawling into his lap and peppering numerous kisses across his jaw, nose and coming to an end at the corner of his brow. Solas purred lowly in his throat, arms wrapping around her waist to pull her closer.

“You’re getting soft Inquisitor.”

Both Moro and Solas looked up to the Tevinter mage who leaned against the railing, the teasing tone to his voice accompanied the grin that stretched his face. Moro’s laugh came out in low hum as she rested her head atop of Solas’. The apostate himself didn’t seem fazed by being caught in the midst of their nuzzling, instead burying his face deeper against her, inhaling the scent of her oils and citrus scented perfume. Moro’s only response to Dorian was to close her, smiling as she rubbed the shell of Solas’ ear. This only earned another chuckle from him as he stood up straight from the railing.

“And no retort? My my, well done Solas and here we all thought you were hard as stone.”  
“Not all of me Pavus.”

Dorian left the two alone with a chuckle and an offering to take Solas’ place in her company for Crestwood. The two released each other reluctantly, one last peck before Moro excused herself from his lap and sat herself on his couch to redo her hair so she could wrap her scar up, the last piece of clothing before her whole getup was ready and she could depart.

Most returns to Skyhold were quiet. Moro wasn’t one to make a huge show of things. Horses and harts would be put away and she would silently pad into the Rotunda, arms would wrap around Solas and kiss upon his head would be his proof that she was safe and in one piece. 

The Inquisitor’s return from Crestwood was different this time. The rotunda that was usually so quiet was in a state of chaos as people rushed through and out to the courtyard. Solas grumbled with annoyance until shouts could be heard.

“The herald has returned! They’re saying she almost died on the way to Skyhold! She still hasn’t awoken, she can’t be dead can she?!” 

Solas’ heart froze and his eyes widened at their words and before he realised it his feet were carrying him outside to follow suit. Fear consumed him at the sight of Moro held limply in Iron Bull’s hold.

“Solas!” 

He snapped at attention at the sound of Dorian grabbing him at the shoulder.

“You’re a better healer than I come!”

Both mages ran towards the throne room and through the door that led to Moro’s quarters. “What happened Dorian?!” Solas found it hard to conceal the anger in his question as they ascended the stairs. They managed to reach the room before Bull could, the empty room theirs to prep for her swift arrival. Furs were removed from the bed and Solas was relieved to see Dorian had already procured salves and potions. Small bowls of water brought as well as towels and bandages.

“What happened Dorian?”  
Dorian inhaled deeply before answering his question.  
“A dragon.”

Dorian had hoped that would be all he’d have to say. The hard steel look Solas threw at him demanded a more extensive explanation. One he was reluctant to give.

“Moro insisted we settle the matter, it had been terrorising the villagers for some time. Children had been killed, so you can imagine she felt it necessary to deal with the situation…” The door burst open. The sight of Moro’s near death state up close shattered any rigidness from him, having her placed on the bed. Bull wasted no time ripping away the leather to give Solas a better view of the damage. Three long swipes across her ribs undoubtedly from the dragon’s claws and few broken bones from the impact she must have had flying off from the impact of such an attack.

“Solas-“

“Tell me.” Solas was rolling up his sleeves, ushering Dorian over to use his mana to hold back any more bleeding. “How do two seasoned warriors and a mage manage to allow their leader and only hope for ending this war end up in such a state?” All the men in the room were silent, unsettled by Solas’ tone, his eyes never left Moro as he set to work. Blackwall cleared his throat to speak.

“Silence. I don’t want hear excuses…Fetch as much elfroot as you can carry, both of you. The pain will be immeasurable.” Both men only nodded, seeing it best to do as Solas asked. That left Dorian, Solas and Moro in the room, the silence deafening as beads of sweat began to pepper Solas. A great deal of mana being expended to undo so much damage. 

“I am sorry Solas…”

“You will be if I don’t make it…” The sound was barely above a whisper, groggy and scratched. Where her chest was once still, it down slowly rose up and down. Barely.

“Vhenan!” Her weak hum was his only reply. Both mages worked tirelessly harder. Moro hissed and cursed when Dorian applied the bandages across her abdomen and ribs while Solas prepared the elfroot for her. Once Solas had assured everyone the worst was over, everyone retired to their rooms while he stayed behind.

He was at her side in seconds, hands shaking as he traced them across her cheeks, her nose then stroking her hair. The reminder of her mortality struck him to his core.

“Ir abelas vhenan…my love…” A long low hum was his only response, an excessive amount of elfroot fed to her to numb her pain causing her to be in an almost drunk-like state. A lazy and dazed smile on her lip as she weakly pushed her hand out towards him across the bed.

“Ma’lath you look so distraught. I am alive, don’t trouble yourself.” Solas clutched the hand extended to him, holding it close to his lips as he joined her on the bed. Carefully so as not to provoke any strain to her body. His eyes glossed over with tears threatening to fall.

“I almost lost you.” He whispered, shuddering as images of her earlier state flashed through his mind. Moro hushed and cooed at him, wincing slightly when she attempted to get closer. 

“But you didn’t. Look at me Solas.” Solas peered his eyes up at her as Moro clutched the side of his face with her free hand. “It is done, breathe easy now.” A shaky smile flittered onto his face.

“Yes. You are alive…You are alive.” Solas inched closer to her face, pulling her in and capturing her lips with his. “I love you.” He breathed, lacing each kiss with a promise and declaration of his love. It unsettled Solas at how deep the thought of losing Moro could affect him. When his eyes bore into hers, when he held her in him arms it was easy to forget however and he closed his eyes and joined her in sleep. Such worries could wait another day.


	3. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ramia's first lesson 
> 
> (This follows Smokey Taboo timeline so Ramia is 13)

“Ah! Perfect, come and sit.”  
“Gods Solas, stop being so overly excited…” 

Ramia’s smile was hard to conceal despite trying to appear disinterested in the impending lesson. A small part of her enjoyed the bright beaming smile on Solas’ face as he rose from his seat to pull out the chair undoubtedly placed for her.

“Wait here a moment.” Solas was ascending up to the higher levels where the library resided, selectively pulling out books. “I want to keep this lesson brief, I’m unsure how much you can fill up on in one day but I do want to get a few things…” Five books in total were dropped onto the desk, dust cluttering the air sending Ramia into a fit of coughs. 

“Covered.”

The young mage’s eyes shifted from her own work book and a few skimmed pages of one of the books. 

“You’re all about your spirit stuff aren’t you?” Solas’ eyes shone brighter at her comment, directing her to particular passages in the books. “Stop grinning so much! You’re way too happy about this!” She giggled that last part, rubbing her hands together and pushing the books aside. “When do I get to make fire? Or lightening!”

Solas dissuaded her excitement with a tut, pulling his chair in more firmly. “There’ll be none of that, you must understand theory first. The practical side of your learning will come later.” Ramia leaned back with a pout, all interest and excitement slowly crawling away and replaced with boredom. The change did not go unnoticed, Solas’ shoulders slumped with his confidence cracked a tad at her loss of interest so soon after starting.

“Such things are important da’len…”  
“I guess…”

An awkward silence filled the rotunda, Solas had to think fast. How to peak her interest while still teaching her the right way. Solas clicked his fingers as an idea came to mind, her gestured his arms out wide. “Make fire Ramia.”

“What?”  
“You want something for fun? Make fire then.” Ramia hummed, almost hesitant. Climbing from her seat to give herself more space she stood and closed her eyes and concentrated. Small puffs that could hardly be considered fire escaped her fingertips despite the large amount of effort and will it took to make even that happen. Ramia growled under her breath, turning with sad eyes to Solas.

“Hahren!”  
“Yes?”  
“It’s not working!”  
“No it isn’t.”

She growled more loudly, attempting again to conjure fire and failing all the same. Solas waved for her to come back to the desk and take a seat. “How does one generate fire? How do you manipulate your gift to manifest your will?” 

“I don’t know…Oh! Do you think one of these books will help?!” Solas snorted, pulling out the very specific book for her troubles. It had been a long time since Solas had to teach anyone, and even then children were not often the students he received. This would be quite a challenge, dealing with such a small attention span that was so common in boys and girls her age. He was certain however that it would worth it in the end. The chance to pass on knowledge of what he held close and dear to one who had not been brainwashed by neither Chantry nor Dalish upbringings? This was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

“Why don’t we have a look?”

The fact that her eyes shone with a bright curiosity and eagerness for learning only filled him with a happiness, and nostalgia.

Their lessons went on for some time, Solas’ eyebrows jumped up as he saw the remains of his candle, indicating the many hours they had spent. A small sigh caught his attention as Ramia’s pouty face squished against the desk.

“I miss mother…”

Moro had been gone for some time now, but Ramia had not yet gotten used to her mother being gone for long periods of time on missions. Solas placed a comforting hand on her head, softly ruffling the wild curls.

“As do I, but she’s a busy woman. She can’t save Thedas if she stays cooped up in this castle all day would she?” Ramia looked up at Solas, her eyes searching for an answer.  
“She doesn’t even like bald men…”  
“Excuse me?”  
“….Just wondering why my mother likes you so much.” Solas had no idea how to proceed.  
“I…..well, that’s not…really a question I can answer…” How did Solas get here? Being scrutinised by a child. “Doesn’t like bald men you say?”  
“Oh yeah, she rejected two invitations because they were bald.” A small part of Solas grew self-conscious as he rubbed a hand over his own hairless dome. Insecurity that Ramia picked up on.

“Don’t worry Hahren. I asked her about it before. I was like….’I thought you hated bald men ma’” Solas questioned in hushed tones.  
“What did she say?”

“Not anymore.” A small blush creeped up him, a small flutter in his chest. Despite how close he and Moro had become she could still be hard to read at times. Actions over words, that’s the kind of woman Moro was. He knew she loved him. Every mended jumper, sweetened tea and tentative ear to his stories was her own way of saying ‘I love you’.  
“Hello?”

Solas was startled from his thoughts as Ramia stared at him impatiently, chin resting in her hand as she rolled her eyes at his own cow-eyed expression.  
“Ramia, what does your mother like? Gifts I mean.” Ramia hummed in thought, tapping her hands on the table.

“You know she likes olives.”  
“Half the kitchens cellar storage is littered with those dreadful things.” Ramia sighed, then darted around the room to see there were no prying ears.

“Keep this to yourself Hahren, she’ll kill me if people find out.” Solas leaned in close, eager to hear what shameless interest his love might divulge in.  
“Flowers.”

“Flowers?”  
“She LOVES them. Planting them. The different meanings.”

“Meanings? Truly?” That would explain her aggressive refusal to accept that Marquis gift of salmon coloured roses. Josephine, himself and her other two advisors saw them as harmless compared to what he could have sent. Moro had been adamant on the Ambassador sending them away. “I did not expect her to care so much about that.”

“Oh she does, she’d cover her entire room in flowers till your nose is blowing up. I mean, look at my clothes Hahren…” Solas looked at the dress Ramia wore, petal designs covered the hemline. In fact, when he thought about it, all of the clothes Ramia wore that Moro made herself had some form of a floral pattern, be it obvious or subtle.  
Adorable.

“Thank you da’len, this is very helpful.”  
“Well just make sure they’re potted. Y’know, soil and all that. She doesn’t like them on their own.”

“Ah Inquisitor! It is good to see you alive and well.”  
Moro was tired and hungry but mustered up a friendly smile for Josephine. “And you as well Montilyet.”

“Solas wanted me to tell you he will be waiting for you in your quarters. He seemed eager for you to head straight there was you’d arrived.” Moro raised a brow but nodded her thanks and headed straight for her quarters.

The sight that greeted her left her speechless.

Every visible surface was covered in vines and flowers of all colours and shapes. There were flowers she had never seen before that blew her away.

“Vhenan, it is good to see you, I hope you do not mind but, I thought you could use some redecoration in your rooms. I had it on good authority you are a fan of flora.”  
Moro fanned her face as she tried her best not to let tears leave her face. Her room was so beautiful with it’s symphony of colours that it overwhelmed her, more-so that Solas had gone to such trouble. Solas was suddenly worried at her tears rushing to her side, arms on her shoulders.

“I should not have invaded your space vhenan! This was clearly a mistake, please forgive me!”  
“I have just spent an entire month in a frozen wasteland. Without a fucking leaf in sight.” Solas’ face was suddenly assaulted with kisses, not an inch was spared.  
“Thank you love.”

Solas was defiantly going to be teaching Ramia how to make fire in their next lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incase your curious Salmon coloured Roses represent Desire


	4. Can't catch a break (Slightly NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The job of Inquisitor never ends.
> 
> Even when you really want to get laid.

“Vhenan do you have a moment?”

Despite the innocent enough question, there was a certain lilt to the way he said ‘moment’ that told Moro his intentions for seeking her out were anything but innocent. A grin stretched across her lips as she twisted her head to regard Solas as he ascended up the steps, a grin of his own to greet hers. His eyes roamed over the tight fitting gown she wore, fixing upon one long sleek leg exposed and on show.

“Only a moment? Ma’lath, you’re losing your touch.” Solas chuckled lowly in his throat, with pressed close to his chest the vibrations from his laugh caused her to hum in turn and rub appreciatively across the expanse of his shoulders. “Have I told you how much I love shoulders? Yours in particular…” Her hands travelled down his chest and across to his back to pull ever closer, eyes growing heavy as anticipation grew.

“Mhmm…” Solas returned his own hungry gaze, hands trailing up her back to move her hair to the side so he could get a full view of her back and derriere, grinning to find her lacking in underwear. Bringing their faces inches apart, he wasted no time devouring her lips with his own. A breathy laugh at the end of a gasp escaped Moro when he grabbed at her cheeks, breaking into a moany whine as he pressed his hardening length against her.

“MA!”

Moro and Solas both jumped in unison, before he could react Moro shoves him, sending the apostate tumbling backwards and onto the other side of her desk out of sight with a large thud to the ground.

“Ramia! What’s wrong da’vhenan?”  
“There’s gonna be an archery competition, I wanted to wear my ribbon but I can’t find it!”

Moro cursed mentally at the turn of events, silence fell between them at the sound of a pained groan from behind her desk.

“What was that?”

Moro was throwing a shawl on and pulling Ramia away with her out of the room. “Nothing, just the wind, let’s go find your ribbon, wait for me downstairs.” 

Once her daughter was out of the room she rushed back up the stairs, guilty and embarrassed at she helped Solas rise to his feet. “I’m so sorry love, I panicked! You’re not hurt too badly are you?”

The way he held a hand to his crotch was her answer, his face a mixture of pain and dazed confusion.  
“Let us hope the next time you panic we are not on the balcony…”

It had been about two weeks since the incident in the Inquisitor’s room. Solas was working on one of his murals when hands rested against his stomach.

“I’m sorry about what happened a few weeks ago.” Moro had been caught up in much business with nobles and dignitaries since then, the two of them had not seen each other proper. Every time Solas would try steal a moment with his love she was snatched from him by one of her advisors.

“I’ve miss you terribly.” Solas put down his paints and pulled Moro into his arms, wincing slightly when she pressed a kiss to the side of his temple.

“Still a bit sore.”

A devilish smile came to her face as she already started to unlace him. “Not all of you I hope.” Solas went completely red as his eyes roamed the rotunda.

“…..Here…?”

Moro snickered as she hooked two fingers to the waistband of his pants and pulled him to a secluded corner. Pushing him against a wall, hands resuming to remove him from his leggings as she planted open mouthed kisses across his throat.

“Someone might see us!” He hissed, hands planted firmly against the wall. “Oh….oh dear…” Moro lowered onto her knees, lifting his sweater to continue trailing kisses across his stomach. All protest ceased when she freed his member, taking a firm hold of him. “Vhenan…”

Moro used her free hand to rub along his hip, give a gentle tug at his cock with the other. “Still wish for me to stop…Solas?” Solas shook his head, eyes closed and breathe slightly laboured. She gave a lick from base to tip, lips wrapping firmly around the head and-

“Inquisitor?”

Moro growled, irritated and cursing whoever was calling for her. Solas rubbed a hand over his face, whoever was calling for her would not relent, and began to ask around for the Inquisitor. “You should probably find out what it is they want…”

“I’m going to kill them.”  
“While I share your sentiments, I think we should make ourselves decent before they come looking this way.” Moro rose to her feet in a huff, going out into the rotunda to find Cullen descending the library steps with urgency.

“Inquisitor!”  
“Commander. Can this wait? I kind of have my hands full right now…”  
“Leliana says her scouts have found a lead on Calpernia, I’m afraid it can’t wait.”  
“Of course not…”

To say after a few extra weeks of no release was putting Moro in a dour mood would have been mild at best. The trip to the Emerald Graves was quiet, even Solas was more solemn than usual. While neither Iron Bull nor Blackwall dared ask they could tell something was off.

Once they arrived at their camp it was still early afternoon, but Moro wanted to ensure they were fully supplied and decided a small stop for something to eat would be the wise choice. Even though the majority or the time was spent little side by side with Solas, faces miserable as they attending to the bubbling stew.

“Do you think they had a fight?”

Bull took shook him head. “Nah, Inquisitor would be much worse tempered if they did. Besides, Solas isn’t acting snarky with her.”

Bull scrutinized the two elves. Moro’s knee bounced rigorously up and down and Solas’ eyes lingered on her, wanting but holding himself back. Suddenly he figured it out.

“Hey Boss!”  
“Yes Bull?”  
“Let me and Blackwall take care of lunch, you two look like you could use a nap. We’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Realisation dawned on the couple, staring at each other and back at the grinning Qunari. Moro was dragging Solas by the collar of his clothes into their tent, pouncing on him as soon as they safely inside and away from prying eyes.  
Neither of them bothered with teasing and sensuous stripping of each other’s clothes, hands pulling and tugging as their lips grinded against any part of them they could reach.

“Solas…” Moro was panting, rubbing her heat against the rigid length of him, already freed and aching to be inside her. Solas’ ear twitched, eyes darting to the far corner of the tent.

“Did you hear that?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Moro pushed aside her smalls, aligning him, ready to sink him deep inside of her. “I don’t want to hear anything.” Solas turned his attention back to Moro, rubbing himself against her clit, a thumb between her kiss swollen lips to muffle her moans. The earth below them shook slightly, enough to give Solas pause as he pushed himself to sit upright.

“There it is again!” Moro moaned again, more out of frustration as she shoved Solas back down against the bedroll.

“God dammit Solas! Will you just fuck me already?!” A loud and monstrous roar shook the entire camp. “You have got to be kidding me….” Moro was grabbing her daggers and dashing out of the tent.

“Vhenan! Wait!”

As they had suspected, a dragon had decided this was the most opportune moment to descend and attack their camp. The Inquisitor was usually a cautious individual, not prone to get involved in unnecessary conflict.

These were not the usual circumstances however.

“FUCK OFF MISTRAL!”  
“Vhenan please! STOP!”

Moro was livid, heading directly towards the high dragon. Solas, Bull and Blackwall were not far behind, completely shocked at the sight.

“I HAVEN’T GOTTEN LAID IN OVER A FUCKING MONTH! GO ON, PISS OFF! I’M NOT DEALING WITH YOUR SHIT TODAY!”

“I don’t think the dragon understands the common tongue Boss!”

Mistral still lives to this day. As does Inquisitor Lavellan, although she vows that dragon will die by her hand. One of these days.

“Your worship?”

Moro stood with her hands leaning against the war table. Despondent and with little to know enthusiasm for anything her advisors had to say about troops movements and efforts towards material gathering.

At the sound of her title she lifted her gaze, Commander Cullen had left. The Ambassador and Spymaster remained, delicate smiles gracing their features. A grunt was her reply.

“We’ve heard about your particular predicament.” Claimed Josephine after clearing her throat, less sure than Leliana about approaching the subject.

“Leliana and I have gone to some length to assist.”

“………..What did you do?”

Leliana stepped forward, smile still firmly in place. “Nothing to be concerned about Inquisitor. Simply clearing your schedule, you’ll have the rest of this evening to yourself. Solas has been informed.” Moro’s eyebrows raised, realisation at the opportunity hitting her.

“Appreciated, thank you girls. If I had to see one more noble I’m unsure it would have come out favourably.” Josephine giggled, jotting a few notes down on the board she always kept on hand.

“There was no doubt of that in my mind, I’m sure however Master Solas is probably in your quarters by now. Please have some well-earned rest your worship.” Moro walked slow and calculated out of the room, closing the large door behind her.

“I doubt she has resting on her mind Josie.”

Once she closed the door she broke into a brisk and fast pace, racing back to her room. Solas was already there, the biggest blushing smile on his face she had seen in a long time. They played their old dance again, slowly inching closer and closer to each other.

Only there was no adrenaline, and neither of them put their hands on the other. Solas and Moro gazed at one another for a length of time frowning as they came to the same conclusion.

“Am I the only one who isn’t in the mood?”  
“Creators! I thought it was just me.”

Both elves stood awkwardly like that, slightly peeved that after so much trouble neither was even in the mood to have sex. Moro shrugged her shoulders, placing a smile on her face and pulling his hand into hers as she led him away from her room.

“Let’s go eat.”  
“That would be nice.” Solas squeezed her hand gently, pulling her closer to him. “They have brought in that bread you like.”

“The one that I end up having half stolen from you?”  
“The exact one, I will enjoy doing so again.”  
“You can have whatever you like love.”


	5. Meet the Parents, or Parent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hypothetical scenario if Solas ever met Moro's father

“Ma’lath.”  
“Vhenan.”

Moro trailed fingertips across his desk, slowly rounding on him and giving him a backrub. Solas slowly closed tired eyes sinking into his seat and enjoying the feeling of fingers and heeled palms digging into strained shoulders. After a small hum of a giggle slipped from her he peeked an eye open.

Moro never instigated backrubs outside the boudoir. 

She planned on telling him something. Something he wouldn’t like.

“Stop.”

Moro snatched her hands away, a nervous smile on her face when Solas turned to look at her. His own eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“What has happened Moro?”

Moro snorted and waved off his concerns, but Solas wasn’t buying it.

“Moro…”  
“Someone of my clan have come to visit.” Solas’ face slowly etched back into a smile. “My father included.”  
“Oh. Realisation slowly dawned on him. “Oh….”

“Yeah…”

“Mmmm….should I be concerned vhenan?”  
“You’re not worried?”

“No….?”

“Good!” Moro claimed as she clasped her hands together. “Neither am I then. They’ll be here for at least a week, when do you wish to meet him?” Solas shrugged his shoulders, an almost nervous smile on his face.

“Whenever you wish.” Crinkled eyes met her own hopeful ones, a small smile gracing her features in a way that always warmed Solas’ heart. He always wished his love would smile more. “Perhaps the garden would be suitable? It has been some time since we took some leisure time there.”

“Would late in the afternoon tonight be alright?” Moro gave a breathy chuckle. “In all honesty I’m worried if we don’t get this over and done with he forget all together.”  
“Your own father would forget he has a man courting his daughter to meet with?”  
“You’ll understand when you meet him.”

 

When Solas was later notified that the Inquisitor and her father were waiting for him in the gardens he was quick on his feet. He felt a bit silly as he adjusted his attire, burying the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Moro was city born, her father had more than likely spent more of his life in an alienage than with the Dalish. So he honestly wasn’t entirely sure what to expect and he knew better now that preconceptions would get home nowhere in this world.

“Off to meet the in-law chuckles?”  
“Yes Varric, wish me luck?” The dwarf’s eyes never left the letter he fiddled with on his desk.  
“You’ll do alright. If you could win over the Inquisitor, you can win over her dad. Maybe.”

 

Solas gave a small nod, not wanting to keep the two in the garden waiting. Moro caught sight of his as soon as he showed, rising from her seat to travel all the way across and give a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Good, you’re here!” Solas grumbled as Moro wiped a thumb over his brows and adjusted his clothes proper. Solas tried to get a good look at her father, unfortunately the chair he sat on concealed him from view. Only pipe smoke wafting from the chair. 

A smoker. Lovely. 

Moro walked on ahead expecting Solas to follow. The arrived at the small table and three chairs placed for them. Finally meeting his love’s father.

He sat slouched in his chair, pipe in hand as he look lazy puffs. Head shaven and Sylaise’s marking covering a single eye. Solas would not have pegged him as a medicine man. It was hard to tell whether he had noticed their arrival or not, he continued to stare ahead of him, smoke blowing out through his nose.

“Father, Solas is here.” Her father gave a close-mouthed grunt.

Not the talkative type. Lovely.

The man pointed at the other chairs with his pipe, Moro was quick to push Solas into the seat closest to him. 

“This him?”

“Yes father, this is Solas. Solas this is my father, Rosal.” Solas bowed his head a fraction, Rosal gave another affirmative grunt before continuing to smoke his pipe. A long awkward silence filled the air, Moro coughed irritatingly at her father whose only response was a cocked eyebrow and plucking the pipe from his lips.

“What? You want me to talk to him?”  
“It’s usually the reason someone introduces two people to each other.” Solas knew better than to speak up. Instead he sat between them, hands clasped firmly to his knees and gazing at anything else.

“You’re a grown woman Moro, I don’t care who you bond with. Besides look at him.” 

Oh no…

“Looks like he’d double over if I pat him on the back.” Solas didn’t want to test that theory, the man did have rather strong calloused hands. Even if he wouldn’t ‘doubly over’, he was sure the experience wouldn’t be pleasant all the same.

“How old is he?”

He was right there.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Solas gave a look that said ‘why are you doing this to me?’ in her direction. Turning back to her father to see him looking at him expectantly, expression screaming that he would probably much rather be taking a nap than dealing with his daughter’s new love.

Solas couldn’t blame him. By mortal standards the man was getting on if the wrinkles were any indication, he probably didn’t care who or what his daughter brought home at this point. Solas gave out a long drawn out sigh.

“It’s a number boy, not your personal history.”

Now Solas could see where Moro got her snark from. She took up a lot of looks from the man too now that he thought about it.

“Forty four.” At least Solas thinks that’s what he told Moro. 

Rosal’s eyes narrowed on Solas pipe falling slightly from his lips. “Huh. Alright. Moro’s got grandkids sorted anyway.” Moro excused herself to go bring tea and cakes for them, Solas found her behaviour quite different with her father here. A sort of eagerness and domesticity she wouldn’t usually show in public, it seems she wouldn’t dare behave as the Inquisitor with her family here. Shooing aware servants who tried to assist her. 

“Moro tells me you’re a mage.”  
“Oh! Yes, I study the fade.”  
“Uh huh.”

“I’ve travelled to many ancient ruins, you learn much in these places. Many tales lost to time.”  
“Tell us a story then.” Rosal sunk further in his seat, head resting against his knuckle. Looking at Solas with bored expectancy.

“What?”  
“A story. Y’know ‘Once upon a time’ etcetera.”

Solas hated being put on the spot, luckily Moro had returned. She was pouring tea for them both, Solas tried his best to hide his grimace at the bitter taste of the foul tea. Moro chuckled softly when her father noticed.

“Solas doesn’t like tea.”  
“Give him milk and honey.”  
“I have, he still doesn’t like it.”  
“Find him something else to drink then.”

“No really, this is fine I…”  
“Father…”

Solas ended up learning a few things about Rosal. Firstly that he didn’t see Solas as a threat (if the man only knew), and that he was quite blasphemous. At least by Dalish standards. He didn’t seem to take well to the teachings as Moro had, but blames that on coming to the Dalish at too old an age. When Solas asked however if he was Andrastian that nearly got him an earful as well.

The man wasn’t fond of humans.

With a curt nod, Moro’s father bid them both goodbye to head back to the quarters given to member of Moro’s clan for their temporary stay, leaving the couple alone in the garden.

“I think he likes you.”  
“Well good, because that was slightly traumatising. Your father is…uncomfortably poker faced.”

“Yeah…”

“Any other family I should expect to meet?”  
“No, father and Ramia are all I have.” Moro rose to her feet with Solas in toe, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him forward for a quick kiss.

“And you.”


	6. That's The Good Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moro had a kid long before the Conclave. It was with a man named Arlen, a craftsmen in the clan.
> 
> I wanted to write the first time they interacted with each other proper.
> 
> You can see what Feron and Arlen look like on this tumblr post, althought they're all a bit younger than what's there so just shave off a few years lol: http://mindtrove.tumblr.com/post/143946210462/okay-its-done-solas-the-dreamboat-shaken-veil

Autumn was slowly coming to an end in flatlands of the Free Marches where Clan Lavellan currently took residence. Light dustings of frost on blades of grass as far as the eye could see. Soon they would have to travel further west towards the human cities.

Trade always made the humans more tolerant, particularly during the winter.

The journey would be arduous, and food would be scarce with no forests to hunt in. But the clan was always prepared for this every year. Eir'melana Ghi'mya, ‘The Winter Hunt’ they called it. A popular event for apprentice hunters.

What better time to prove your worth and earn your vallaslin than when the clan needed you most?

The hunters would go into the woods and bring as much game as they could kill and carry back to the camp. And important task that they all took very seriously. The whole camp was in high spirits. Everyone doing their part to ensure the hunters success in the coming hunt. But for one particular group of people within the clan it was a stressful time.

The craftsmen.

The warriors of Clan Lavellan were a proud bunch. Rowdy and demanding at times. Particularly when they wanted the best equipment and armour the craftsmen could make. They crowded the forge and stall, shouting orders left and right and cracking jokes, overall they were pains in the asses for the poor old Isene.

“Enough! Shoo, the lot of you! You’ll have what you need for the hunt but let us work!” Some of the hunters rolled their eyes but did as the Isene said. Even the hunters knew better than to catch the Craftmaster’s ire.

Most of the workers breathed sighs of relief as the noise of the hunters dimmed as they moved further from their forge. One of the craft apprentices laying his chin on the work surface, groaning loudly and blowing tuffs of his curly hair from his face.

“Mythal’s mercy, I hate hunters…”  
“Oh? You hate the men and women who provide food and protection?”  
“You know what I mean Master Isene…”

Isene gave a chiding tut and patted the boy on the butt to rise and take a list from her hand.

“Yes well the hunters have to keep Morale up Arlen. If it means acting like children then so be it, this will be a hard winter and we need all the food we can get.”

Arlen squinted at the small handwriting on the paper, many metals and wood requested on the paper. Apprentices wanting to learn the craft spent most of their time as errand boys. If you wanted to truly learn anything and get far, initiative was always expected.

But Arlen was a shy boy, and could never muster up the courage to take charge at the forge. Luckily for him he was an early riser and he and only one other apprentice were up as early as it was. If he was fast, he could have all the materials brought and not be lost in the crowd when the craftsmen got to work.

“Elgar’nan Da’len! Hurry up!”  
“Yes ma’am!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Moooooooooro….Moro! MO-ro. Waaaaaaaake up! Wake up!”  
“I swear by the gods Faron I will kill you one of these days….”

The hunter apprentices spent the night before drinking stolen spirits from their clan’s story teller Master Ithelan’s secret stash. A regular tradition among the apprentices to drink and arrogantly proclaim what accomplishments they will make during the winter hunt.

Last night was Faron and Moro first experience with this tradition, one Moro was coming to regret this early morning. A pounding hangover, and Faron jumping up and down on her trying to wake her up and get her ready for the hunt.

“Stop jumping on my butt and let me sleep.”

Faron climbed higher, sitting astride her back and pushing her shoulders back and forth. Insisting for her to rise with a melodic tune this time.

“Get up Moro, we’re going to miss the hunt. There’s no way I’m going without you,” Moro groaned, twisting to lie on her back while Faron plopped himself next to her, squishing his face close to her own. “What would Lailani say if we didn’t go together?! She’d never forgive me!”

“How is your relationship my problem?”

“Pleeeeaaaase get up! We have to go to the craftsmen and get our weapons and armour, they should be ready by now.”

“Alright….Just give me….ugh fine…I’m up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“How much more have we got Marin?”

Arlen leaned against the work table, chin on his hand and bored out of his mind. Most of the work having been done. He squinted his eyes in the distance when two figures could be seen. When a particular brown haired girl appeared his eyes widened, immediately jumping from his seat when he saw the signature scar from her ear and across her cheek.

“Shit!”

Arlen immediately squatted down, hands gripping the table and eyes peering across, hiding when Moro and Faron were getting closer.

“Arlen….what are you doing?”  
“I’m not here!”  
“What….?”  
“Marin!”

Marin looked up, eyes wide and a long smile forced to his face. His posture rigid.

“Moro! Faron! Hi….”

Faron gave as charming a grin as he could, hands on the work table and leaning close. Moro rolled her eyes, giving him a kick to the back of his leg.

“He’s not going to give you the good stuff y’know?”

Faron glared at her, but she ignored him, giving a cheeky smile to Marin.

“Where’s the cute one with the curly hair?”  
“Who? Arlen? Uh…..He’s….”

Arlen was giving Marin a death glare when his eyes trailed down to the elf hiding at his feet. Using hand gestures to promise the boy’s demise if he blew his cover.

“He’s….not here, he got…um…” Moro laughed slapping the table and jolting both Marin and Arlen.

“Stop hiding Arlen.”

She chuckled again when the tabled jolted as Arlen tried to rise, bumping his head. The boy tried his best to keep his composure, posing awkwardly in an attempt to seem aloof.

“Hi Arlen.”  
“Hey Moro…you uh….look good….did you…do something new with your hair?”  
“Forget to brush it? Yes, it’s a mess.”

“Oh! You look nice anyway….I mean not that you always look a mess! Well even if you look a mess….you….” Arlen’s face went a deep red, Moro’s face stretching with a grin. Arlen hung his head low, turning towards the rack with weapons and armour.

Marin and Faron’s both held their mouths agape when Arlen showed up with some of the good pieces, Moro’s own eyes glinting with approval at the choice. Marin tried to grab Arlen’s attention.

“Not a word Marin.”

“I’m staying out of it then,” Marin hands up and walking away from the two apprentices and his friend. “It’s on your head if Isene gets pissed.”

Arlen ignored him, pushing the weapons and armour in their direction and sinking back towards his hiding place.

“Please take them….good luck in the hunt….Please….go…”

Moro leaned back over the table.

“Thank you Arlen.”

“Mhm!” Arlen replied, his voice higher pitched than he wanted to sound, the mumblings of him chastising himself making Moro giggle once again.

Marin watched with a shake of his head as the two hunter apprentices left with the valuable work, looking down in disappointment at his friend.

“You need help.”  
“She said I was cute.”  
“Yeah. I was there.”  
“I gave her the good armour….”  
“Yup….”  
“Isene’s gonna kill me….”  
“Yeah…”


	7. Da'lath'in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas' mind wonders to more sombre thoughts while teaching Ramia simple elvhen phrases.

“An'daran Atish'an”  
“An’daran…”  
“Atish’an.”  
“Atish’en.”  
“An.”  
“An! Atish’an…An’daran…Atish’an.”

It is trying and it is frustrating, but when she asked he hadn’t the heart to refuse her. To deny knowledge and understanding of a tongue that belonged to her just as much is it did to him. But when he hears her struggle, hears the words break before they even have the chance to form he is hit with the reason why the temptation to say no had come.

“I heard it said so many times as a child…saying hello shouldn’t be so difficult!”  
“Atish da’lath’in.”  
“See! I don’t even know what da’lath’in means and you’ve been calling me that for as long as I can remember…It’s frustrating Abelas…”

Abelas wanted to bring Ramia comfort. Her discomfort shared greatly with his own. 

Because she was a symbol. One among millions who represented the people’s failure, of his failure. Their gift of magic scarce, the empire dust and ruin in far flung corners of this foreign blighted land. 

Her incompetence in their language was just the final insult. The salt in the wound.

But there was something endearing in her attempts as well, when his mind was not lost in Arlathan and the ruinous call of Uthenera. The way she stared with wide hopeful eyes when she attempted to reply to his words in elvhen, for approval or acknowledgment. When she would surprise with the cruder phrases, always in company so as to fluster or startle him. Even when he knew none around them could understand.

The way she visibly softened when he called her da’lath’in, almost a second name that was solely his to use when they were alone.

“What does it mean? I can’t believe I haven’t already asked you.”

“It means ‘little heart’. An endearment for those whose passions can get the better of them, but also for the most compassionate.”

For those who wore their hearts on their sleeves. He could find no better word to describe his heart.

“I’m not emotional!”

“Ramia…you nearly cried the other night when I nearly ate your sweet roll.”

“You’d already had yours! That is a horrible example! No, you’re wrong I am completely in control of my emotions thank you very much.”

“Very well…da’lath’in.”


	8. Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted on tumblr and then prompted to do a part 2 for Solas enjoying Moro's food and then enjoying it a bit too much lol
> 
> Prompt 1 (Wren-BlueBell): Solas who 'usually' doesn't eat much, always has a fondness for Moro's cooking... and she teases him about it because it’s starting to show.
> 
> Prompt 2 (EmmG): I need a continuation to Solas likes Moro food with....unfortunate side not-at-all-benefits. AKA Solas is putting on the pounds lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen used:
> 
> Delavir: Stupid
> 
> Vara u’em: Leave me alone

PART 1:

Moro is a good cook.

All of the Inquisitor’s inner circle had many opinions of their leader. Some of them found her funny in her own deadpanned, unexpected way, while some of them didn’t think she had a funny bone in her body. Some of them found her easy to talk to, while others found it an uphill struggle. But they could all agree that at the end of long day in whatever end of Thedas they all found themselves in, if Moro agreed to cook, it was going to be a good night.

That wasn’t to say she was some grand chef, no. Iron Bull could cook just as well as her, sometimes better. It wasn’t so much how skilful she was around a stew pot but more that Moro knew exactly what to cook for the occasion. She always knew exactly what everyone needed.

Whether it was something cool and light for those nights in the Western Approach. Where the heat and grime from a day’s fighting made you sluggish and averse to anything too filling. Or a heavy and hearty soup that you knew would keep you warm and full for an entire night in the freezing temperatures of Emprise Du Lion. Her stews were her most popular. Her secret being the elfroot she let seep into the food that would heal and relieve sore muscles and subtle wounds over the course of the night. Leaving you waking up better than you felt in a long time. A tip her father taught her when he devoted himself as a hearth keeper back with Clan Lavellan.

The only person however, that was reluctant and would ‘politely’ refused to eat her food was Solas. Which only added a sour note to their bumpy relationship. His decision to do so solidified when she would give him a look that one would give a bratty child.

“I don’t get you Solas, this stuff is great! I don’t know what you put in this Inquisitor but it’s appreciated.”

“Thank you Varric.”

“That is exactly it Master Tethras, you have not had the…opportunity to see our Inquisitor at work when it comes to the evening meal…”

While Solas did not require sustenance the way the others of this world did, when Moro had once sent Varric and Cassandra to search for firewood and drinking water, he was able to see first-hand Moro’s food preparation.

It wasn’t pretty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Solas.”

“Inquisitor.”

Solas winced slightly at Moro’s rough treatment of the ram as she slammed down on her makeshift work surface. Skinning the poor beast with such rough abandon, like she had done it a hundred times. The sounds coming from her task unpleasant to his ears.

Oh gods then there was the smell…

“Are you not…going to throw some of that away? Surely there’s no need for…all of the beast.”

Moro turned and stared at Solas as if he grew three heads. A small amount of sweat forming on her brow from her exertion. Hands and forearms bloody. The entire sight nauseating to Solas’ senses. All of them.

“Why in Mythal’s name would I do that…?”

“…What use have you for the eyes?! And the tongue and…whatever that is…”

“All of this!” Moro gestured to the sloppy mess of a carcass. “Is all perfectly good! No, help or go away.”

Solas scoffed, returning to his tent.

“Throw it away he says…delavir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since that night in the Hinterlands Solas had been put off eating anything Moro cooked. No matter how wonderful the scent that would waft around him. He would not eat it any of her food.

That strong…seasoned…wonderfully smelling food.

Moro was stirring the large pot in front of him, Cassandra laying on a bedroll nearby to have a quick nap before dinner.

“Solas, keep an eye on the pot, Bull seems to be taking a long time to fetch more water.”

Solas waved her off, and then he was left alone with the pot that offended his senses. Alone with a sleeping Cassandra, a book in hand and the comfortable silence of camp. Until he noticed the contents rising higher in the pot, so he jumped to his feet to calm the boiling stew. The aromas driving into him in full force, and hungry curiosity coming over him as he looked at the sleeping Seeker to the bushes Moro had disappeared into.

His hand stirred the pot ever so slowly. The sounds of the stew bubbling, the heat and smells hitting his face…

It couldn’t hurt to take one little bite could it?

One taste and he could put whatever the fuss was about her food to rest. Sending a slight frost spell into the ladle, Solas scooped up a portion of the soup. Blowing on the surface for good measure before taking a sip.

Somewhere between that sip and putting the ladle back in the pot, two bowls worth of stew ended up passing his mouth. Solas didn’t know what came over him, he didn’t even need to eat yet he kept chowing the food down until he heard rustling in the bushes. Rushing back to his book and pretending nothing had happened.

And just in time, as Moro and Iron Bull strode back into camp. Solas watched nervously as Moro made her way over to the pot looking inside and then moving away, only to sharply turn back over to it and inspect the contents. Solas watched silently, praying Moro wouldn’t find anything amiss as she scrutinised the pot with a hard stare.

“Elfroot!” She exclaimed with a click of her fingers before dumping a handful inside. Solas sighing in relief.

It had been a month since that day in the Hinterlands and it had been a month since Solas had picked up the terrible habit of sneaking into the camp dinners when no one was looking.

It should have been a simple matter of just accepting a bowl or plate of food. Moro did after all, ask him every time if he wanted any despite his same answer every time. But his name meant pride for a reason, and he had spent one too many nights vocally proclaiming his displeasure for her cooking methods. He couldn’t possibly accept her food now.

Once upon a time his displeasure for her food was true, but the more he snuck food in secret the more of a lie it became.

But he found Moro insufferable at the best of times, like the rest of the Dalish. And her silent arrogance in her capabilities both in battle and in domesticity encouraged him to keep up the façade.

But perhaps he should have just been honest, her smugness at him admitting he enjoyed her food would have been preferable to her catching him red-handed. Which she did.

He expected loud gloating or even chiding but all she did was look at him with her mouth in what was a cross between a neutral line and the beginnings of a smile. Casually coming to kneel beside him, clearing her throat and putting a hand out for him to give her the ladle. No other words shared between them. Moro tending to the pot like nothing had happened.

Until later that night when everyone was ready for supper, happy with bowls of food in hand. Moro picking up and empty plate and sharing a look with Solas, her eyes glinting in a challenge.

“Solas, would you like some?” She asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. A self-satisfied smirk on her face. Solas could only sigh in response, pinching the bridge of his nose as all eyes were on him.

“…Yes…”

“Not so hard now is it?”

“Vara u’em.”

PART 2:

The library was busier than usual with agents and messengers pacing back and forth in their duties. Even Dorian, who usually could be found lounging with a book was hard at work for the Inquisition. Solas himself was in his usually place at the bottom of the rotunda, his paints ready to be used to commemorate the Inquisitor’s efforts in Adamant.

But he stood still, hands at his hips and he stared down at himself. His eyes trained hard and intensely at his stomach, more than certain that something was amiss.

Firstly, his pants felt just a tag snugger than they usually did, and his body felt slightly more sluggish than usual. His hand pressed down on his stomach and the pudge that had formed there releasing it after a few seconds, only for it to spring back where it was. He repeated this process several times before he was interrupted by Moro as she walked in with a few shards she had procured on her last venture.

They gave each other a polite smile, while they tried their best, things were still a bit awkward between them. Their impulsive kiss in the fade followed by the agreement to pretend it hadn’t happened had been quite recent. But it afforded them the chance to improve their relationship. Their jibes and insults now more playful, or out of habit.

“Everything alright Solas?”

“Something seems…off.”

“Off how?

“Me…”

Moro came to stand in front of him, looking the apostate up and down.

“Your head’s looking shinier than usual if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh be quiet, I’m not talking about my head. Here, look.”

Solas was gesturing towards his stomach, both of them staring for a good few seconds.

“Is there a reason we’re staring at your stomach in complete silence…?”

“I have gained…”

“Oh yeah, you have.”

“What?!”

“I grasped that a few weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“You never asked.”

“Mmm…”

Solas pursed his lips, grumbling at the confirmation of his suspicions.

“Lift up your shirt.”

Solas did as Moro asked, the woman tutting and looking at him with a warm smile.

“It’s not that bad! Don’t make that look,” Moro said, squeezing his shoulder. “You just need to fill out everywhere else. You’re already much broader than most elves I’ve seen, it’s nice to look at.”

Solas caught the slightly flirtatious tone, a small part of him wanting to reciprocate.

“Moro…Inquisitor it’s probably best if we…”

“What?” Moro asked, her face completely innocent and confused at his sudden apprehension. Solas deduced she clearly had no ulterior meaning to her statement and was simply stating an opinion. But a knowing flash of realisation glossed over her eyes, her next statement made it clear however that they both took different ideas from their silent exchange.

“If it’s really bothering you Solas, you can come with me on our next trip. It’s going to be physically taxing and will probably help. And I will try make my suppers less tempting.” She added with a quite laugh, the sound a rarity from the hard woman that Solas couldn’t help but enjoy its brief appearance.

“I…yes…thank you Inquisitor.”


	9. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moro's body tells many stories

Moro thought it odd that Solas requested she change all but the wrap that held her hair at bay when she returned from the Hinterlands. She complied nonetheless, the long chiffon textured gown the only other item of clothing now on her person.

She sat on the floor of her room, along with Solas. The man bared from head to toe, although there was no sexual tension in the air.

No, he seemed much more pre-occupied with what she wore, her face free of make-up, as he had requested of her. Both remained crossed-legged on the soft carpet beneath them, face to face.

“Y’know Solas…if you really like my outfits I can let you borrow them if you want. I’m not one to judge.” She jested, an eyebrow raised and grin small as she watched Solas mirror her own expression. His eyes crinkled with mirth at her innocent jibe, thumb and forefinger rubbing the silky material of her gown.

“Your new position has come with benefits Vhenan, and you have taken to them well. Have you always had a penchant for the more extravagant?”

Moro hadn’t expected the question, taken aback but bouncing an answer back to him just as quickly.

“Doesn’t every little girl dream of pretty dresses for when they grow up love? Even Dalish can desire some finery now and then.”

“Ah yes, but you did not grow up a little Dalish girl did you?”

“You have me there Solas, if you know that you can imagine I saw a good few noble ladies growing up. My mother always did hate it when I ventured out of the alienage…but alas, I’ve never been a very good listener.”

Solas’ smile grew wider and it became clear to Moro what game he was playing. He was after knowledge, titbits of who she was. Learn more of the woman he called his heart, his vhenan. When his eyes moved from the nightshift to the wrap on her head she decided to oblige before he could ask. Twisting around till she had her back facing his, head bent back and bestowing her permission.

“Ma serannas, ma vhenan.”

There was a softness to his voice, she had a handful of these fabrics they were precious to her. Never to be touched. His fingers were gentle and methodical as they slowly unveiled her hair.

As soon as the last of it was shed, she was turning back to face him. His eyes locked on her own as he held the scarf across his lap.

“May I?”

Moro nodded as she looked from the cloth to his face, smiling as he laid it across his lap and traced the patterns adored in the stitching. Fingers tracing and eyes lit.

“It is impressive work.”

“They were my mothers,” Moro confessed.

She held so much of herself close like careful secrets. But there was something in this, almost ritualistic in this solitude shared that felt like a balm between them. “Gifts from my father, that belonged to his mother. My grandmother.”

She thought relinquishing such confessions would feel alien and displeasing, but it didn’t.

“They are beautiful.”

“They are of Nevarren make, if you were curious.”

“Nevarren?”

“Yes,” Moro said as she took the scarf back and began folding it carefully. “My father was from Nevarra. Before he was sent to Wycome to marry my mother.”

From what Moro remembered when she had asked her mother about it, the transition had been difficult for him. He had never regretted his marriage or children, but even at such a young age they all knew he never did truly feel at home. That he always seemed discontent about something. As if he didn’t want to be wherever he was.

Moro seemed miffed by it at first as a child, but when she became part of Clan Lavellan she had finally understood that feeling. It was never pleasant, she felt it even more now here at Skyhold.

“Vhenan?”

Moro was pulled from her thoughts as Solas inched closer, his hands faltering before she pulled her hair across one shoulder. His fingers threading through the long soft waves, excessively long The Iron Bull had once commented.

“You can see the necessity for covering my hair.” Moro chuckled, laughter deepening when Solas proceeded to use two hands. Nose scrunching up when he brought it up to his nose, not expecting the scent that welcomed him.

“You continue to defy expectations my love.”

“Thought it would smell flowery and sweet did you?” She quipped, laughing again.

“It is nutty instead it would seem.”

“From the oils and hair mixtures, yes.”

“Another Nevarren specialty?”

“Yes. Although I hear such practices are done in Rivain as well.”

Solas lets her hair go, his hand tracing gently across the scar along her jawline. Moro doesn’t freeze from the contact, but there is a sharpness to her posture that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. His hand is moving away from her jaw to tilt her head towards him and press her lips firmly against his own. Soft and swift.

“I am sorry Moro…I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Her fingers are tracing the scar where his own once were. From the start of her chin to her earlobe, it stood stark and loud on her skin. She was tempted to end this little ‘thing’, whatever it was they were doing. The memory accompanying the scar still painful, even though it had been at least twenty years since it happened.

“I fell from an abandoned shack in the alienage when I was about twelve…maybe thirteen. There was plenty of debris and broken wooden planks to break my fall though. I was bloody, crying mess.”

Solas winces slightly at the information, his thumb tracing over the scar instinctively. His lip press gently at her chin where it starts, Moro winces but allows it. Her eyes are shut as he follows the line of her scar with his lips, his face pressing against the side of her own when he reaches her lobe.

Moro’s eyes were downcast as she recalled that event, the first loss of many.

“I had a brother, older than me…he came into his magic right there and then. It surprised me and I lost my balance.”

“You had a brother? He was a mage?”

“Yes,” Moro whispered, pressing gently against the bend of his arm. “I’m not ready to speak about him…I’m sorry.”

“No no…I should not have pried.”

Moro laughed softly, it eased Solas slightly. His hand running across her forearm to link hands with her, his smile returning.

“This entire thing has been about you prying. I’m simply enjoying this ma’lath, and I don’t want to linger on unpleasant memories.”

Solas’ hand not held in Moro’s was sinking in her hair, pulling her close for a deeper kiss. It was slow, exploring with lips and tongues. His hand tugging slightly at her hair when she moaned and sighed into his mouth. A low hum of approval leaving her as they pressed their foreheads together. Amusement lighting her eyes to find him still soft below them, impressed almost.

“Someone’s strong willed today.” She remarked, a small snort escaping Solas when he looked down where her eyes lingered. He shrugged his shoulder, curiosity rekindled when he saw the palm of her hand. Pulling the other to see the matching orange pigment to them.

“It’s from the hair mixtures, it stains the hands. It would probably fade if I stopped, but I won’t.”

“I had always wondered why your hands were like this.” Solas remarked.

He took her hand in his, fingers long and calloused and the nails trimmed down. Hard, even for a hunter.

She was dangerous with her daggers in battle, but she avoided using them when she could he had noticed. Preferred to use her hands either to subdue or end their enemies lives, it was unpleasant to watch at times. The efficiency with which she brought down her opponents under the cover of darkness, face calm and void of any hint of fear or hesitation. 

She had once told him, when first they began to work together that her place as hunter was with the warriors. Patrolling the borders of their encampments, protecting the clan from outside threats.

_Learning to knock out a human and keep them alive is better than shooting him in the back or sinking a dagger in his throat_ she had remarked. Sometimes the risk of killing humans could be too great.

He brought her hand to his lips, eyes closed as he let her cradle his cheek.

“Would you like to see more ma’lath?” Moro asked, her gown falling and leaving a shoulder bare.

Inviting him to search further with mischief in her gaze.


	10. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a modernAU take on Abelas and Ramia's first time together.
> 
> It doesn't go all that great.

“Are you sure you are ready Ramia?”

“Yeah, super ready…I want to do this Abelas, we’ve waiting long enough.”

They were both in his room, her own apartment too crowded and busy for what they wanted to accomplish tonight. The only other resident in Abelas’ dorm was two doors down with his music booming loudly, the heavy base all they could make out from their end. It reassured them that there would be some semblance of privacy tonight.

His room was messy, messier than it usually was. Which meant he was just as nervous about tonight as Ramia was. Much had happened between them in this room. A friendship blossomed, laughter was shared and tears shed in equal measure. Memories that would never be forgotten.

Adding sex into the mix would either make or break the little sanctuary they had made of the place.

It had been a strange yet wonderful experience after realising they harboured feelings for one another. But it had not changed much, Ramia was always the affectionate sort. Kisses had simply moved to lips instead of cheeks, and cuddles now included wondering hands. It seemed to be the only changes to their already close relationship.

The only thing that could have changed was them going all the way, and the idea almost frightened them. Ramia had never slept with anyone and Abelas didn’t dare try recount when he had last jumped into bed for anything other than sleep. The whole thing felt daunting but exciting all at once.

Ramia was sat awkwardly clutching at her shirt, trying to cover up her now bare legs from view. Abelas’ hands instinctually pushed forward, hesitantly pressing palms flat against them, travelling the expanse of them. His mouth becoming dry at the softness and fullness of them.

He remembered how often he was tease her, calling her legs ‘stubby’ and other short jokes. But now he wanted to do was get his head between them and…

“Abelas…”

Ramia’s cheeks were deep in colour, hands leaning behind her as she allowed him to explore. His hands were worse than a doctors, left goose-bumps on her flesh as he moved to her waist. She licked her lips, a squeaked word coming out before clearing her throat to start again. Eyes peering off to the side instead of looking at him.

“You know I’ve never…done anything…”

“I know.”

“And you? How long?”

“…Long enough to feel like I have no idea what I am doing.”

She giggled at that, the tension lifting slightly as he returned her laughter with a smile of his own. Taking the moment to press his lips against the corner of her mouth, pausing slightly, they were always so worried before kissing each other. So afraid of ruining what they had.

Ramia closes her eyes, turns to bring his mouth slant against her own. Exploring and searching, fingers entwining together in their laps. Abelas lets out a low groan from his throat and both their eyes open wide, his ears turning pink at realising the sound he just emitted as they quickly released each other. 

More of her laughter quietly filled the silence.

He kissed her again, albeit more consciously of his own tendencies. It had been a long time for him, a few years give or take. Studies having consumed all of his time, he now started to understand why his few friends gave him such a hard time about his reclusive behaviour. He looks at Ramia, who waits for his next move, he sees the nervousness and eagerness in her eyes and feels annoyed with himself. He doesn’t want to disappoint her.

“Well,” Ramia breaks in. “This dorm won’t be quiet forever.”

Abelas nods, take that cue to slowly reach out, pulling her shirt over her head. His eyes coming into contact with the ‘not so innocent’ underwear she had hidden underneath. Unable to hear the small noise of protest from Ramia.

He continues to pull her shirt till there is resistance, coupled with her yelling.

“ABELAS! STOP!”

He only realised to late that her hair is caught in her shirt and he has been harshly tugging, trying to remove it. His hands withdraw immediately, mentally chastising himself as he watches Ramia fumble and remove the offending fabric before throwing it full-heartedly across the room. Hands rubbing her scalp.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Let’s just…”

She crawls up closer to him, hands cupping his face. Both of them staring into each other before breaking off into nervous laughter again.

“Still don’t want to stop?” Abelas asks, hands wandering till thumbs were hooking around the waistband of her underwear. When an answer never came he released them with a harsh smack to grab her attention, startling Ramia as she jumps at the sharp collision of fabric and skin. Before a chance to fight back could happen he was pulling her atop him, till she sat along his stomach. His head resting atop his pillow, enjoying the view.

Ramia all of a sudden feels much shyer, more self-conscious. Trying to hide her small chest and small lump of her belly from his view. Abelas’ mouth set into a deep frown, gently brushing her hands aside.

“You do not have to hide anything from me Rami.”

“I know…” Ramia mutters the words, still unsure of herself. The way his eyes wondered her helped slightly, that appreciative hunger lingering in his gaze. She did not think she could spur such a look from him, it made a heat grow. Made her bold.

Ramia moves lower till she’s by his knees, looking to him for permission before pulling down loose pants. If she was blushing before, she was beet red now. Hands flashing up to cover her face.

“You just had to be a boxer briefs person didn’t you?!”

“What?”

“It’s right there! The outline, I can see it proper!”

An eye peaked out from her covered face, from his briefs to his unimpressed face. His fingers tapping against the bed, waiting for her to finish having her moment. She lightly slapped her face to get a hold of herself, ignoring Abelas’ snort and reaching out. Worried at first, looking up to Abelas for support before he took her hand in his and directed it. Her heartbeat thrumming faster as he aided her, rubbing the hardening length beneath the fabric together.

Her butterflies come out in a bubble of laughter, quiet and breathy as she keeps touching. Even when his hand leaves her own stays, her curiosity awakening, biting her lip when he pushes against her palm unintentionally.

When she grows bored of that her hands are coming up to pull the briefs off, but his hands are wrapping around her wrists, a serious look that dispels the moment for them both.

“Don’t feel like you have to keep going regardless. If you want stop, stop. I do not care when, but if you do…it is fine. I do not want you to feel like you can’t if you become uncomfortable.” He says the words with as much control and firmness as he can, given their predicament. Ramia nods, crawling up to him quickly to kiss him again. He melts into it, pulls her closer and wraps his arms around her. He remembers the times she would talk of ending previous relationships with men and women who were too fast, uncaring of her reluctance and inexperience. 

He will not be like the others before him.

She kissing a line to his ear when she speaks to him, voice shaky from want and anticipation. Feeling his chest rise and fall against her own.

“You too ok? You can tell me to stop as well.”

Abelas nods, belly twitching when she’s back where she was. A hand wrapping around the base of him and gasping in surprise at the feel of it.

“Oh wow…” Ramia fans the words against the head, leaning close to take him in. Abelas’ eyes widen when he sees her about to take him into her mouth, trying to halt her movements.

“You don’t have to do that!” Abelas proclaims, surprised at her eagerness to jump straight to oral. “Do you not want to…slow down…?”

The words die in his throat at her pout, eyes hard and determined as her lips brush ever so closely against his length. A hand still holding it as she lies on her stomach, making herself comfortable between his legs.

“You had a shower before I got here right?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s fine, I want to.”

Ramia turns her attention back to his cock, making a few experimental tugs, Abelas hand going to help her be more gentle. Showing her how he liked it. When feels her lips wrap around him his back hits the bed, eyes closed and exhaling long and slow. He had gone too long without.

She’s clumsy, and too erratic in her movements. Every time she does something he likes she changes to something else. One sensation after the other, ending before he can lose himself in it, but he says nothing. He lets her explore, lets her learn without the threat of embarrassment. It still feels incredibly wonderful, especially when she starts to finally find a rhythm. Braves to take as much of him as she can, when he looks up he sees the way she squirms and blushes. The knowledge that she’s getting off to this filling his head with terrible thoughts. Why he waited so long to tell her how he felt boggled him.

He has an arm slung across his eyes, her name on his tongue every time she sinks down on him. Warm liquid heat around his cock, it was too much. His body having become more sensitive with neglect for so long, he tried to keep still but his hips jut upwards, bucking up to feel more.

Which was a big mistake.

The sudden shove of his length up her throat jolts Ramia, distracting her from her rhythm. Jaws clamping down. And the only thing Abelas can feel next is pain… _so much pain_.

Ramia is sitting up sharply, hacking and coughing and Abelas is curling on his side. Hands clutching protectively to his groin and suddenly his vocabulary is so much more varied and crass. When Ramia recovers her face is a vision of horror, as she realises what has happened. What she’s done.

“Oh my god Abelas I’m so sorry!”

Tears prickle at the edges of her eyes when she’s met with only more pained groans from Abelas as he continues to be curled on his side. She doesn’t here his word of forgiveness, she buries her face in her hands and stray tears escape.

“I’ve ruined everything…”

“Everything is where it should be, even if it’s in excruciating pain…nothing is ruined Rami.”

But Ramia’s not paying attention.

“This is horrible, I bit it, I bit you! Who does that?! Now I’ll leave and become estranged, barely texting each until we stop talking altogether!”

“Ramia…”

“Break-up songs will become relevant!”

“Ra-…aren’t they relevant for you anyway...?”

“Yeah but this time it’ll actually still hurt when the songs finished…” She sobs.

Abelas looks at her, her eyes are puffy as she turns about the bed, looking for her clothes. He tries to ignore the pain and grabs Ramia’s hand, pulling her down to lay down next to him. Making sure to avoid causing contact with his now delicate member. Which wasn’t too hard, considering the height difference.

She stops protesting and twists her head back to look at him, another wave of water works threatening until he wiping away at her cheeks. Leaning down to press a hard kiss to her cheek, a small whining protest escaping her as her face squashes together.

“And here I thought I was the one with all the anxieties for tonight.”

“Abelas…I’m sorry…”

“The fault is not entirely yours, we will take it slower next time.”

She tries to protest but she only puffs out a breath with defeat, looking away from him,

“Ok…”

“There **will** be a next time Ramia. You have ruined nothing.”

Ramia turns her whole body to face him, burrowing her face into his chest. A leg wrapping around his waist. Breathing slowed as they silently agree to call it a night, a blanket thrown over them and the lamplight turned off.

Before she falls asleep she kisses him where his heart would be, the gesture makes him pull her closer. Head resting on top of her own as he rubs gentle circles into her back.

“I love you.”

“And I you vhenan.”

 

 

* * *

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